Star To The Left
by TakeHomeJulie
Summary: "I think she's up there," the brunette whispers. "Right there. That star to the left." "Why?" [Beth Greene is dead, that what he keeps telling himself atleast. Each day passes and he only feels the aches, the pain that follows her death. It takes him too long to realise he loves her, but even Maggie can see it, and they both miss her dearly.]


His rough hands scratch at the ground, dirt that builds beneath his fingernails becoming more and more unforgiving. He doesn't remember how he came to be there, digging up the grave because he forbids himself to believe she's gone and it hurts more than anything in his entire life.

There was a single handbook that was shared between parents- that which involved children bent over laps and belts scarring their skin- and even that hurt less than the knowledge he'd lost her forever.

It's a certain twist of a knife in his gut, figuratively, not literally, that jerks him upright. It's seeing the dried and crusted blood on his shirt that shoots him awake, his spine tingling like Beth Greene's ghost itself ran a chilling hand down it.

He remembers the weight of her tiny frame in his hands that refused to shake with breaths no matter how desperately he wished it would. He'd hope maybe he'd feel her come alive in his arms but there wasn't anything like that anymore; no miracles.

His own hand flies up to grasp the cool chain around his neck which currently rests against the dirtied skin between his collarbones, sometimes far too harsh against the flesh when the silver cools in the winter winds. When he took it off Beth, Rick told him- over and over- how she'd want him to have it.

The next run they went on, Rick found a chain for him to put the charm- a single cross- from her bracelet on. He'd worn it everywhere, ignoring the weary looks of Maggie, whose face was hollowed.

Some days, she reminds him too much of Beth, far too much that he holds a hand to his eyes to stop from seeing the brunette. Her laugh- the seldom times she does use it- is nothing like her sister's but also too far like it that it pains him to hear it, like his own personal thunderstorm is storming down upon his heart. It's an unbearable pain.

The next time she laughs, he does more than hold a hand to his eyes, he yells. Her eyes find his in terror and Carl looks shaken, holding his baby sister on his lap.

_"You didn't do nothin' to get her back!"_

He doesn't mean what he says, he doesn't, but it doesn't stop the words from falling out and when they're gone- when his well of words is empty- she stands and walks away, Glenn parading after her.

He pretends he doesn't see the looks the group flash him for the rest of the day.

_"She died because of you!"_

There are five words that single-handedly bring Daryl to tears and the next day, when he refuses to let Carol cut his hair, Maggie yells then out.

The cool of the silver is frozen around his neck and when he reaches out to touch Judy, the baby recoils like she's been struck.

It's been weeks- maybe months- since the child was last touched by the woman who had grown to be its mother. She may not have been the one that birthed it, but she's definitely the mother.

Judith misses her, maybe a little more than Daryl, but it is far too young to understand the true pain of the loss. Daryl, however, feels it with ever crack and ache of his body.

He looks at Rick like he's searching for an explanation but the man's face is like a blank sheet.

It's when Sasha starts to talk about Bob- how she loved him- and how he would've been proud of all them, that Glenn speaks, and this time, he says how Beth is looking down upon them.

There's something that can only be described as a momentary silence before Maggie's head snaps up, eyes still staring daggers at the red-neck and that is when she speaks the five words, the one that almost bring Daryl to his knees.

His first instinct is to run and hide, bury his face in his hands and pretend it's Beth because that's the only way he knows how to deal with things anymore.

But... He doesn't.

He stares at her, feeling the burn in his eyes when he realises he can't stop the tears that begin to glass them over.

_"She died because of you!"_

He knows he deserves it, after yesterday's outburst, but it doesn't subdue the sting that follows the words. There's a certain bite in them that leaves him tasting copper, realising far too late he's been biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.

Daryl picks at the skin that surrounds his thumbnail, heaving in a deep breath to try and choke down the blood that is pooling in his mouth. He bit hard- much too hard- and instead of swallowing it down, he spits it out in front of him, watching the way Carl recoils, eyes following the blood mixing in the dirt by the red-neck's feet.

He misses her.

With a shake in his steps, he walks over to the grave where she is, unclasping the chain because God forbid he have to deal with the weight of her on his chest. He hangs it loosely on the cross that sticks out of the dirt, bringing his rough hand to his face, letting out a broken sob into it.

He misses her, maybe even more than Merle because this girl, he loved her. He learned to love his brother by default, because they were simply family.

His brother wasn't a bad brother, just a bad person, and it took Daryl far too long to realise that. He assumed his love for Beth was the same, because they were family, but when he picks up a handful of dirt, half-expecting to see she isn't really in the grave, his hands touch something.

He knows he's dug too deep, the few days he's spent out here, fishing out lumps of dirt after endless lump of dirt. He doesn't know the reason behind it, just that he wants her to be alive, wants to dig up her body and perform CPR like maybe_- just maybe_- it might bring her back.

Maggie has a smile much like Beth's which he realises too late, sitting near her that following night, while Carl tells a hideous joke over the flames of the small fire they lit.

It shows the tiniest hint of teeth but is equally beautiful to the blonde's. He sees a spitting image of the woman he loved in her older sister and it brings an ache to his chest that feels like he might be having a heart-attack and he can only imagine the look on his face at that moment.

None of them seem to notice until he chokes something out and only the brunette seems to catch it because the corner of her lips turn down and he can't tell if she's upset or confused but he doesn't decide to stick around and find out.

_"You look like her."_

He goes back to sleep down beside a pile of dirt where the woman he loves lies six-feet under, chest now unwilling to breathe in the wake of death and lips- _that he never ever got to kiss_- cut like marble stone.

He can't get Dawn's voice out of his head, nor the way Beth's blood felt sticky against the skin of his face or how he carried her down five flights of steps just to deliver her dead body to her sister.

Daryl doesn't know which part of his life he regrets more.

He should've told her, that, too, he realises too late.

There are too many things he hasn't realised until he's tasted the copper of his own blood, learnt to hold his tongue and smelt the rotting smell of decay that seems too revolting to his nose to possibly be Beth but it is.

Maggie comes down shortly after, not saying anything, just lying down beside him and her hand entwines in his, voice quiet- and shaking- when she finally speaks.

"What did you mean?" she finally asks. "I look like her. What did you mean?"

He doesn't know how to respond at first then his voice sounds out, almost as if magic. "Beautiful. She was beautiful."

"The other day," the brunette chokes, squeezing her eyes shut despite the stars above them that dot the sky. "You s-said I didn't do anything, Daryl. That I didn't try to get her back-"

"I'm sorry."

"You were right."

Neither of them are crying yet but it's only a matter of time before they do because they're lying next to Beth's grave and Daryl still has a handful of dirt in his hand and a few strings of blonde hair are visible because he's dug too deep, and now she's coming out of the place where she rests.

"I didn't either," he says but he knows it's a lie. He did everything, all a man could do, to bring her back to him. But it was too late, something that is a sickly reoccurring theme in his life right now.

"You really love her," the older sister says and now she's crying, which he only just notices. "Because each day, you're down here and even when Judy cries, you're still down here. Whole days pass and you're sitting here with a handful of ground and words swirling in your mind. You should've said them, you should've told her."

"Too late," is all he says.

They sit like that for a while, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, shallow breaths matching one-another's.

Daryl still can't figure out why Maggie came down to talk to him so he asks but he sounds so quiet like a child, scared.

"What did you come down here for?"

Her head snaps to look at him, nose almost pointing into his cheek, dried tears glistening like small crystals in the moonlight.

"To talk," she replies simply.

_"I don't think the good ones survive."_

His voice still sticks in his head and he curses the moment he utters the words like it was his fault she's dead, like eight syllables cursed the blonde into an eternity in the ground, and it's then- the exact moment- that he knows, just knows.

"Ya came down here because we both love 'er."

"Yes," she confirms, rehearsed too much for one simple word.

"I want to hold her hand again," he says, tears blurring his vision as he speaks, voice matching the shake in his body. "Or 'ear her sing."

"I want my sister back."

Maggie goes quiet and he does too, both just lying there with the sky overheard, sniffling quietly and crying because God, do they miss her.

"I think she's up there," the brunette whispers. "Right there. That star to the left."

"Why?"

"Because I want to think she's watching us right now, knowing how m-much we miss her."

He releases the dirt in his hand, instead moving to prop his head up on his arm, following Maggie's thin finger as she tries to explain why Beth is the star _'to the left'_.

Closing his eyes, he imagines the warm hand that's holding his is Beth's but his mind isn't stupid enough to know that and he settles on Maggie, knowing it is indeed hers. It's warm and clammy but neither makes a move to go away so they stay like that for a bit, crying and talking and sharing stories and staring at the sky, at Beth's Star.

The star _'to the left'_.


End file.
